A Rather Odd Twist on the Typical Narrative
by Treble
Summary: *CHAPTER 15* A bit of sarcasm and a twist on the norm...little bit of drama, lots of humor, almost some romance and a hint of violence...see for yourself!!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Any characters from the movie Newsies belong to Disney, I'm just borrowing. Anyone else belongs to me (ha! They came from my own head!). If you wish to borrow one of my characters, feel free, just let me know so I can read the story!  
  
A/N: Hello folks! Treble here. Now, this story may seem a bit familiar to some of you. Well, there's a reason for that. This story was originally written a little over a year ago, under the title "The Other Side to Time Travel". I posted it on ff.net, updating it when I could (which turned out to be not very often). I gave up about halfway through it. Well, recently my interest was reawakened and I've decided to repost the story. Since I've got the majority of it already written, you folks don't have to worry about infrequent updates or anything of the sort- I will be posting a new chapter every week (hopefully a little less than a week, we'll see how things go). I've written a few new chapters since I stopped posting, so I'll be working on those and reworking some already written ones as I'm posting this stuff, so you're guaranteed an edited, almost-brand-spanking- new and definitely interesting story. For those of you who don't have the slightest idea what I'm talking about, I hope you enjoy the story. And for those of you who are still reading this author's note, what the heck is wrong with you? Go read! Happy Reading! And, oh, by the way.please review!! More reviews=more often updates (muwhahahhaha)  
  
I woke up, groggily, when my alarm clock went off at 6:30 a.m. Like almost every other teenager (yes, there are always exceptions) on this side of the sun, I hit the snooze button and threw the blanket back over my head. Stupid snooze button. It doesn't turn the radio off. It's really hard to sleep when Down with the Sickness (by Disturbed) is blasting in your ears. So, unfortunately, I got up. Also unfortunately, my sister had beaten me to the shower (again). I was forced to wait outside the bathroom while she finished up. I could've been doing something productive, like finding clothes to wear, but who wants to be productive when your eyes aren't even open all the way?  
  
Eventually, my sister finished and I got the shower. I did the usual morning thing, eventually waking up.after the hot water had run out and I was rinsing conditioner out of my hair while slowly freezing to death. That and a cup of coffee got me going. I had a headache and wasn't in the best of moods; four hours of sleep will do that to you. Stupid English paper- time management isn't my strongest skill.  
  
My ride showed up at about 7:00. Of course, being me, I wasn't ready yet, so I had to forego breakfast and run. Emily was about as conscious as I was, so little was said in the ten-minute ride to school. I wandered into the auditorium (my sanctuary) with fifteen minutes before first block. I'd thrown my discman and my CD's in my bag, so I was able to enjoy fifteen minutes of my favorite band- Staind- before my first class (English).  
  
English was its usual- mostly discussion, a few laughs. The block actually went by fairly quickly, despite my lack of consciousness. I had to stay after a few minutes to figure out a time when I could make up a quiz I'd missed, so I had barely enough time to make it to my Algebra II class before the bell rang. *Sigh* There went my usual mid-morning trip to the good old vending machine for a nice healthy breakfast of Goldfish. There was nothing different or interesting about my Algebra class that morning (can't you tell I just love school?). My friend Kate, who sat behind me, and I spent most of the 90-minute block staring out the window, daydreaming.  
  
I feel I have to warn you, the majority of my daydreams consist of newsies. Newsies, me and newsies, me meeting newsies, me being a newsie, you name it I've daydreamed it. About two minutes before the bell, I stood up with my backpack on, still staring out the window daydreaming and not really paying much attention to what was going on around me (namely, being informed of what the homework was). It was pretty normal; at about 11:30 the next night, Kate and I would be chatting on IM, asking each other what the homework was. (Admit it, you've done it too.) And then the next morning, I'd copy it off of Matt in the auditorium. I was feeling a bit light-headed, probably from lack of sleep and lack of food, but I guess I must have fainted. And I most definitely wasn't in Algebra when I woke up.  
  
For one thing, I was kind of cold. Sure, March isn't the warmest of months, but still. I'd been in a classroom (and wearing a tank-top, not the brightest of ideas). I was also laying on what appeared to be cobblestone, which was definitely no where within miles of my school.  
  
I stood up. I'd been laying on the ground. My backpack was still on my back. I took it off and looked in it. Everything was still in it- discman, all my CD's, an 8-pack of batteries (unopened, I kept them in there just in case, and that hadn't happened yet), English notebook, Algebra notebook (no book, I'd left it in my locker by accident), my copy of The Scarlet Letter (oh joy), stuff for gymnastics practice later on (namely, a leotard, a bra, a hairbrush, and some deodorant) some pens, pencils, a few notes from friends, and some random elastics. I didn't know where my planner was; probably buried somewhere in my room. Oh, and a guitar magazine too, but that was it. The typical backpack of a high school teenager.  
  
I walked out of the alley, hoping to figure where I was and put on something warmer. Once I walked out of the alley, I had to pinch myself a few times to make sure what I was seeing was real. "Forget about where I am let's talk about when I am!" I said to nobody in particular. I took a few cautious steps away from the alley, entranced by what I was seeing. It was a street, lined from end to end on both sides with vendors' carts. I smirked. "Try Bottle Alley or da Harbor," I hummed under my breath. I, apparently, was standing behind an apple vendor's cart. The sight of the apples made my stomach rumble, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since dinner the night before. The vendor had his back to me, and I looked longingly at the apples, wondering if I dared. I was hungry, sure, but not starving, and I'd never stolen anything before.  
  
Just then, a boy of about ten walked up to me and asked, "Hungry?" Assuming he was the vendor's son, I nodded. "Guess so," I said nonchalantly, not wanting to be beholden to a ten-year-old. I was 16 and, like it or not, I had my pride. "Heah," he said in a New York accent, one I knew all too well from Newsies. He tossed me an apple and I caught it. "Thanks," I said, taking a few bites. He smirked and disappeared.  
  
A few seconds later I heard a police whistle (again, which I knew from Newsies.) I really didn't need the call of "Stop, thief!" to make me realize they were after me. "Shit," I mumbled under my breath and took off, throwing the apple down. While I was running, I thanked each and every one of my lucky stars for two things: 1, that I had been on the cross country team so I knew how to run; and 2, that it was the end of the gymnastics season and I was actually in good shape.  
  
I lost them a little while later, and sat down in an alley, trying to catch my breath. "Jeez, talk about luck," I muttered. I didn't have the faintest clue where I was. At least I'm not cold, I thought to myself, though I knew I would be shortly. I still had all of my stuff, and I wasn't any worse for the wear.  
  
"Well, well, well, what have we heah? Looks like we'se got a goil in our territory," someone above me said. I knew that accent, but it took me a few seconds to place it. Shit. Brooklyn. I crossed a bridge and I didn't even realize it. A big bridge, no less. I'd been too busy running and focusing on not running into things or cops. I looked up into the faces of two very tall, mean-looking guys around my age. They were built; if they wanted to hurt me, I didn't stand a chance. Naturally, my mind immediately thought the worst, and I had to fight down panic as I stood up to face them.  
  
"Who're you?" I asked, determined not to let my voice shake.  
  
"Who're you?" the one who had spoken before challenged, and I had to admit I must have looked pretty odd. I'm pretty short for my age, 5 feet nothing. (Which sucks, by the way.) I had my long blond hair in two braids that hung in front. I was wearing a black spaghetti-strap tank top that was a little low; very low for when I thought I was, and my stomach was showing a bit. I had on baggy dark blue skater jeans and sneakers. They had looked me up and down (something I'm not fond of) before I answered.  
  
"The name's Faith. What's yours?" He grunted in reply. "Nice name," I commented. "Shut up, bitch," he said, in a menacing tone. I took a step backwards, I couldn't help it. "What do you want?" I asked, coolly, trying to stay calm. He smirked. "I wanna have a good time," he said, playfully, moving closer. For once I was justified in thinking the worse. I reacted- I kneed him and took off running. I was getting sick of running.  
  
I looked behind me to see if they had followed. If either had I didn't see them. Just then, I felt myself slam into something. I fell backwards. "Watch it," I grumbled, getting up. It was a well-dressed man who looked to be in his late forties. "You had better watch were you're going, young lady," he scolded. "And you shouldn't speak to men like that, especially your elders. Know your place," he said, before sticking his nose in the air and continuing to walk down the road. I flipped him off and retreated to yet another alley to think about what he'd said.  
  
"Know my place, what is he talking about?" I grumbled. Then it hit me. I ran through my history really quickly; women's lib, right to vote, etc. "Ah shit!" I said out loud. "I've landed myself in a time where the feminist movement hasn't even been conceived yet." I was not a happy person. I was completely and utterly lost in a male-dominated society where women didn't even have the right to vote. 


	2. Chapter 2

I was still sitting in the alley a little while later, and I was growing increasingly aware of the fact that it wasn't all that warm out. Needless to say, I was cold. I was also hungry, tired, lost, and sick of running from cops and assholes who wanted to do God only knows what to me.  
  
If this was any indication of what life was going to be like until I figured out how the hell I managed to get where I was, I was going to be completely miserable. Eventually, though, I was able to shake of the negative feelings and concentrate on the facts: I needed food and warmer (and less conspicuous) clothing- soon. I got out of the alley, stretching as I stood up; I'd been sitting longer than I'd thought. I picked a direction and started walking. After a minute or so (it felt like much longer) I came to the ever-famous Brooklyn Bridge. It wasn't as majestic as I'd thought; it was cold and windy, and very long.  
  
Once I crossed, I prayed I was in friendlier territory and not Brooklyn. I looked around as I walked, trying to spot a nice shop I could stand in to warm up a bit and not get kicked out of. I spotted a restaurant on a fairly non-busy street. It was shabbier than some others I'd seen and didn't seem to be as high-class. I walked in, not even stopping to read the name on the door.  
  
The warmth hit me like a wave as I walked in. After standing in the doorway for a minute enjoying it, I looked around the restaurant. It wasn't all that crowded, even though it must've been around noontime, but busy enough so that I wasn't really noticed. I sat in a booth in the corner, trying to remain as much out of view as possible. I just sat, relaxing for the first time that morning.  
  
After a few minutes, a waiter came over to the booth I was sitting in. "Can I get you anything, miss?" he asked. He didn't seem at all bothered by my clothes, my makeup (I had a feeling eyeshadow and eyeliner were not all that common), or my black nails. Hey, who knows, maybe he was used to cold, hungry, strange-looking teenage girls coming into his restaurant, you never know. After going over this in my head rather quickly, I replied with a quiet, "Uh, no thanks, I don't have any money. Uh, is it ok if I just sit here for a few minutes?" I asked, shyly (not at all like my usual self, I guess it was the lack of food), not wanting to get kicked out. He nodded and smiled kindly. "Sit here as long as you like," he said, going off to do whatever it is that waiters do when they're not waiting on people (I didn't know, I'd never been a waitress). Well, that went better than I thought it would, I thought to myself.  
  
I was surprised a few minutes later when he walked back to the table. I was scared for a second, thinking he was going to kick me out, but he was smiling. He placed a cup of tea and a sandwich on the table, saying "It's on the house", and walked off before I could get a word out of my mouth. I ate the sandwich and drank the hot tea gratefully, and, feeling much refreshed and a lot more optimistic, prepared to leave.  
  
I scribbled a quick 'thank you' on a napkin and left that on the table. I got up, backpack and all, and headed for the door. As I opened it, I could hear voices outside. Not really caring, but listening anyway, I heard:  
  
"So what happened Blink?"  
  
"I went like dis," (I'm guessing he did some sort of motion in the air) "and then I hit him wid' a right cross like dis..."  
  
The next thing I knew I was back in the restaurant, on the ground, with blood pouring from my nose. His 're-enactment' had connected with my face.  
  
"Ow!" I said. "What the fuck..." I put my hand on my nose to try and stop the bleeding, which was definitely not stopping any time soon. I'd been punched before, but not so unexpectedly, and no where near as hard. Needless to say, I hurt.  
  
"Jesus Christ I'se sorry..." I heard a boy mutter, and then I was handed a handkerchief and concentrated more on stopping the bleeding than the voices around me. I looked up at the guy who had punched me; I was standing by now but he was still a good eight or nine inches taller, at least. He had a patch over one eye and was dressed like a newsie, or so I thought anyway. He kept apologizing until finally I waved him off.  
  
"It wasn't like you meant it or anything, it was an accident don't worry about it," I told him, taking the handkerchief away (my nose had finally stopped bleeding). "But damn you hit hard!" I said, still in considerable pain. He reddened and I grinned.  
  
I finally acknowledged the crowd around me, and realized (without joy) that I was the center of attention. Hey, it wasn't every day that your friend punched a girl in the middle of a restaurant (well, ok, not the middle of the restaurant, but same difference). And a not-very-normal girl at that. "So...." I said, trying to break the silence that had following mine and Blink's short conversation. "You guys are newsies?" I asked.  
  
"Yeah, how'd ya guess?" One of the older ones asked; he appeared to be the leader. I took Blink's hand and opened it, palm upward. "Newsprint," I said simply. Yeah, that and seeing a movie with you guys as the stars about a hundred times, I thought. He nodded, accepting that as a sufficient answer.  
  
"So who are all you guys anyway?" I asked, curious. Of course they didn't look like the guys from the movie...what did you expect, clones? (A/N: Now we all know that half the newsies in the movie, especially Jack, never existed, but to make it easier on me [meaning I don't have the time to do research on who was around and who wasn't] let's just say they all did.) They went around and introduced themselves, there were about ten in all. One of the smaller ones still had a paper. "Can I see that?" I asked him. He handed it over. I scanned the headline and read the date: March 19, 1900. Yup, just what I'd thought. My brain wasn't functioning completely normally; I'd been bombarded with so many 'impossibles' that day that I just accepted- I assumed shock would come later on. I gave the paper back. They were all still looking at me. I tried not to blush; it was a bit unnerving, especially since a few of them were pretty damn hot.  
  
"Now you know who we'se are but we ain't got a clue who you are," Jack said, matter-of-factly, but I guessed he wanted an answer.  
  
"The name's Faith," I said, holding out my hand (the unbloodied one) for him to shake. 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hello everybody! Here's the third chapter for your enjoyment. Enjoy! :) And please, please R&R!!  
  
Jack, after a second, spit in his own hand and shook mine. I didn't change my facial expression, but after we finished shaking hands I quickly wiped mine on my pants. I will never understand why guys like spit shaking. Ugh. Blink was still looking at my bloody face and apologizing. Id' felt my nose- it wasn't broken, but it hurt like all hell. I had to fight back the urge to kick him really, really hard.  
  
"I swear, I'se so sorry. If dere's anythin' I can do."  
  
I half-laughed. "Well, right now all I want is a bathroom so I can wash my face," I told him, He pointed out a small door in the back of the restaurant that I hadn't noticed before. I picked up my bag, which had been on the ground, and headed for it.  
  
There was no mirror. I washed my face, getting rid of both blood and make-up. The water was cold, and I was grateful- it cleared my head and helped my nose. After I'd dried my face with a towel I fished in the front part of my bag for my hand mirror. My nose didn't look that bad; he'd hit it in such a way that all he'd really done was make it bleed- there wasn't much actual damage. I put away the mirror, put on my chapstick (I had a bit of a chapstick fetish- there were always four of five different kinds in my bag, and at least two containers of french vanilla, my favorite), and left the bathroom.  
  
They were all still standing exactly as they had been when I left, with the exception of one or two. Race spotted me walking towards them and called out. I acknowledged him and, ever the blunt one, he asked, "So why youse dressed like that anyway?"  
  
"Because these are the only clothes I have," I responded simply.  
  
"Ain't ya cold though?"  
  
"What do you think?" I asked, sarcastically. I suppose the sarcasm was lost on him though, because he just shrugged. I rolled my eyes and didn't answer.  
  
"Ya wanna borrow me coat?" Blink asked, still trying to be nice. Frankly, it was getting annoying.  
  
"I can't borrow your coat, when would I see you again?" I asked, matter-of-factly.  
  
"Well," Blink was stumped for a second. "I guess youse could come back ta da Lodgin' House wid' us," he said, but it was more of a question than a suggestion. His eyes flicked over to Jack, who I guess nodded, or shrugged, or something, because Blink kept going. "An' I'se shoah we'se could find ya an old shirt or somethin' somewheres- youse shoit," he gulped. I don't think he was sure if what I was wearing could be considered a shirt. "Youse shoit is covered in blood anyways."  
  
I shrugged, then sort of nodded. "Why not," I said, more to myself than anyone else.  
  
"Let's get goin' then," Jack said, rousing the others who'd just been standing there, watching. I put on Blink's coat, extremely grateful but not really showing it. It was old and threadbare, but it was a helluva lot better than nothing at all. As we walked, he tried to make small talk, more out of curiosity than courtesy, I think.  
  
"So where ya from?" he asked.  
  
"Around," I said shortly.  
  
"Where ya stayin' in New Yawk?"  
  
"Dunno."  
  
"Well, whatcha doin' for a job?"  
  
"Don't know that either."  
  
"How long ya been heah?"  
  
"Since this mornin'."  
  
"Ya evah consider bein' a newsie?"  
  
That got my attention. I looked at him, for the first time since we'd left the restaurant; I'd been concentrating more on the ground under my feet than the people or places around me. "Why do ya wanna know?" I asked, looking directly at him. Or, well, as directly as I could, being considerably shorter.  
  
He just shrugged. "Curious, I guess." Ha, I was right.  
  
Very quickly I ran through the options I had in my head. I was here; as far as I knew I was stuck here, not having the slightest clue as to how to get home. I didn't know how many job offerings there were for a girl like me- I couldn't cook, I couldn't sew, and I'd rather steal than work in a factory. I could sing, but I wasn't fond of skirts or dresses or large crowds of drunken men (my thoughts were of places like Medda's). I wanted freedom and I wanted pants- being a newsie would allow me both. Plus, it was probably the only thing I had any clue how to do. I didn't have the slightest idea how to be a girl in turn-of-the-century America.  
  
"I guess I could be a newsie. It's probably the only thing I could do," I said, voicing my thoughts. "But would the guys let me?" (Stupid, male-dominated society, I thought.) "I mean, there aren't that many girl newsies, are there?"  
  
"If youse tough enough ya could be a newsie, easy. An' I think youse is- any goil I know woulda bawled aftah getting' punched in the nose. You just looked pissed. An' no, dere ain't many goil newsies, but all ya really gotta do is talk ta Jack. He's da leadah, more or less. An' if he don't mind ya bein' a newsie, none a da guys'll go against him. Most of 'em probably wouldn't mind anyway."  
  
I nodded. "Well, then I guess Ill just have to go talk to Jack. Thanks Blink," I said, going up to where Jack was.  
  
Our conversation was short and sweet and over by the time we reached the Lodging House. It was decided- I could be a newsie and I could even stay at the Lodging House- no hassles and no questions asked. The specifics would be worked out later, but I was satisfied- I was a newsie. 


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I'm baaaaaaaaaaack!! Many, many apologies; I have not been able to log on to fanfiction.net until the day before yesterday.I've been so mad at the website and my computer for the past like, three weeks because I promised my readers an update! I feel horrible, computers can be so evil sometimes. And so, my sincere apologies for the evilness of my computer and, just to make it up to you, here's three new chapters in a row, and you can expect another one soon. Enjoy! Please review and let me know what you think! I need to know if this story needs to be continued.  
  
The bunch of us walked into the Lodging House. Why they were still all there, and as a group, who knew. Hey, maybe they were curious about this new girl. I was flattered. Well, not really, but I found it pretty amusing.  
  
"Heya Kloppman," Jack called out when we all walked in. An older man, fairly tall with white hair and a stubble, dressed much like the newsies only without the cap, was standing behind the front desk.  
  
"Hey Cowboy," he said. "Well, who do we have heah?" he asked kindly, looking at me.  
  
"Faith," I said, holding out my hand. He shook it.  
  
"Well, Faith, what can we do for ya?"  
  
Jack answered for me. "She wants ta be a newsie. We'se was hopin' ya might have some old clothes she could wear ta, well, fit in a little bettah."  
  
"An' be a little warmer," I added, giving Jack a look that said quite clearly I could speak for myself.  
  
Kloppman nodded. He directed me to a small storage closet with a few boxes lying around, all filled with random articles of clothing. After a short search, I found clothes that fit- a shirt, undershirt, pants (well, they were a little big, but close enough), and even a pair of old, worn shoes.  
  
Finally dressed, I put my other clothes and sneakers in my bag, then stood up and looked around. There were a few books lying around, and a couple pillows and blankets. But what caught my attention was a guitar in a dark corner of the closet. (Then again, most of the corners were dark, considering it was a closet.) It was a beauty. I reached forward and picked it up. It had obviously been well cared for, but there was a layer of dust that suggested it had been neglected for awhile. I sort of sighed and looked at it, thinking of my own guitars back home (I have three), and for the first time starting to feel a little apprehensive about being there.  
  
After looking at the guitar for another minute or so, I put it back and left the closet. Most of the newsies had moved around a bit- they weren't in a congregated group anymore. This was a good thing; I was starting to get worried that they were always like that. It was unnerving. A few had left, to eat or sell the afternoon edition, so there were only about seven or so in the lobby.  
  
Jack was over talking to Kloppman about something. I headed over to there, determined to ask about the guitar.  
  
"Hey Cowboy," I greeted Jack, then turned to Kloppman. I had just opened my mouth to talk when I sensed somebody looking at me. I turned to the side and saw Jack looking at me, mouth partway open.  
  
"What?" I asked, indignant.  
  
"Nothin'," he said. "Ya just..look a lot different dressed like a newsie. Ya look good."  
  
I really couldn't help it; I blushed. I mean, honestly, when a hot guy says that you look good, what are you going to do, smack him? I fidgeted with the small treble clef on my neck. It's a habit I have when I'm nervous or embarrassed- I play with my necklace, which is usually a small silver treble clef on a thin silver chain.  
  
"Whatcha playin' wid?" Jack asked, either because he was curious or he wanted to change the subject.  
  
I looked down at it. "It's my treble clef. My mom gave it to me for my birthday when I was eight, because by that time I was always singing. I hardly ever take it off," I told him. He looked confused.  
  
"Your what?"  
  
"Treble clef. You know.music? Treble clef.it's for the girls' parts, soprano and alto.the higher notes. And you are most definitely confused and I can't explain it. It's just got to do with music, ok?" Jack was giving me a blank look. "Sorry," I added.  
  
" 'S ok," he said. "So what, do ya sing er somethin'?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah, I sing, and I play the guitar," I told him.  
  
"For real?"  
  
"No, I'm lying for the heck of it," I said sarcastically. "Yes, for real, and I guess I'm pretty good, at least that's what people tell me." Jack just nodded. I turned to Kloppman. "Speakin' of guitars and music, who's guitar is that in the closet? It's a really nice one."  
  
"It was me bruddah's, an' our dad's before that. Me bruddah gave it ta me when he died, but I've got no use for it, I can't play or sing," Kloppman told me.  
  
"Oh," I said. "Would you.would you mind if I cleaned it up a bit?" I asked, rather apprehensively. I'd barely been there five minutes, had already been handed a whole new set of clothes and been granted a job and a place to stay, and I was still asking for something else.  
  
Kloppman looked at me curiously for a minute. Then he smiled, saying, "Shoah, if you want to. Ya can play it while youse heah."  
  
"Really?!" I practically squeaked. I was happy. He nodded.  
  
"Why don'tcha play fer us, Faith?" Jack said, smirking. It was a challenge, that I could see clearly enough. I had to prove that I could actually do something. Oh well. I liked challenges.  
  
I went and got the guitar from the closet. I got most of the dust off with a rag I found on the floor next to it. All the newsies were now watching me, eager for a little show. I strummed it, and it was as out of tune as I expected. I tuned it as best I could by ear and once it was in tune, I started strumming, just appreciating the sound.  
  
"Most of the songs I know you guys've probably never heard of, but I don't know any songs that you do so you're just gonna hafta deal," I said shortly. I seated myself on top of the desk and began playing.  
  
I played a few different songs, some of my old favorites. After the first one, I didn't get a reaction from anyone. I played two more, stopping after those. I waited for a reaction. I didn't get one, and just gave everyone a pointed look. I played one more, and this time, after I finished, I got a "damn, youse good," from Jack, and nods from everyone else.  
  
"Thank you," I told him, smirking. Guess I had proved myself.  
  
"Looks like our newest newsie's got a nickname," Jack said. "Glad ta have ya, Treble." 


	5. Chapter 5

A little bit later, the majority of the boys had all left to sell the afternoon edition. I'd put the guitar away, and had been given a bottom bunk up in the bunkroom where I threw my bag. Jack and I were in the bunkroom, talking. He had been explaining some of the things I'd have to do when I was newsie. I didn't say anything, but I thought it was pretty self-explanatory, and of course I'd heard about "improving the truth" in the umpteen times I'd seen the movie.  
  
"One a da t'ings ya gotta know is how ta get around da city, quick- like. Want me ta show ya around?" He asked. "Cuz dere's always bulls er somebody aftah us, an' it's a good idea ta know where you'se is anyway."  
  
I shrugged. "Sure." I was excited. I'd been to NYC like, twice, in my life, and I was dying to see it turn of the century. Not to mention spending the afternoon with Jack. I have to admit, he isn't my favorite newsie, but who's gonna pass up an offer like that?  
  
"Well, let's go."  
  
A few hours and lots of walking later I'd decided the 'Big Apple' wasn't as great as I'd always thought it would be. Y'know, the movie really played it up. Quite a bit. Or maybe it was just the fact that you can't really smell things when you're watching a movie..either way, there were a lot more dirt, poverty, and run-down buildings than I'd imagined.  
  
Still. It was New York City. Which just made it great. A few hours after being shown all the dark alleys and backways to and from every place conceivable in Lower Manhattan, my feet hurt.  
  
"Uh.Jack?" I asked. We were walking towards who knows where.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Is there someplace where we could, y'know, sit?" I asked, trying to keep down the sarcasm. My nose was cold and my ears were cold and my feet killed. Those shoes aren't the most comfortable things in the world. I figured I'd get used to them sooner or later though- I didn't have much of a choice- walking was kind of inevitable when you were a newsie.  
  
"Uh, yeah, shoah, I guess," Jack said. He had been oblivious to my somewhat obvious discomfort. Oh well, he was a guy. And all guys are oblivious. And he probably wasn't all too used to people who didn't walk all that much- all his friends were newsies, and mostly guys.  
  
"Sorry," I sort of apologized. "I've just done my fair share of running today."  
  
Jack actually looked mildly surprised. "From who?"  
  
"Cops-bulls- and some assholes from I think it was Brooklyn." Jack definitely did a double take.  
  
"When were you'se in Brooklyn?"  
  
"This morning. And I wasn't entirely fond of it- or them- so I wandered over here."  
  
Jack just nodded. "We'se should probably get back ta da Lodgin' House anyway, looks like it might start snowin' soon."  
  
"Oh goody," I replied. Once again, the sarcasm was lost on him. I sighed.  
  
About an hour later, all the newsies (more or less) had congregated in the Lodging House. It was most defnitely snowing, but not bad by any means- definitely not storm worthy, it would be over well before morning. (I've lived in Maine my whole life and I've experienced enough not-quite- snow-days to know these things.) I sat on "my" bunk, strumming the guitar and just thinking. I think best when I have music, but I didn't consider the cd player much of an option. I wasn't upset or homesick or anything (my home wasn't much of one that I minded leaving), but the shock was definitely starting to set in.  
  
"Hey Treble," one of the newsies called out (remembering names is not one of my strengths), "you'se gonna play that thing or are ya jus' gonna sit dere starin' at it?" he asked.  
  
I just shrugged. "Whatcha guys playin'?" I asked, as he was one of about half a dozen sitting in what could be loosely termed a circle playing cards.  
  
"Pokah, what else? Ya know how ta play?"  
  
"What sane person doesn't?" I asked. "Can I join?"  
  
"Shoah," he said, as the hand was ending.  
  
"I don't have any money," I told them as I put down the guitar and moved in to where they were.  
  
"Don't worry about it, none of us does either. We'se only bet when Race plays, an' he's wid' his goil tanight."  
  
I nodded. I played for awhile, and by 9:00 I'd lost every single hand except one.  
  
"Ok, that's it, I quit," I said as I folded for the umpteenth time. I got a look from a few of the guys. "What? I said I knew how to play. I didn't say I was good."  
  
"Damn straight," one of them mumbled. I just grinned and rolled my eyes.  
  
I went back to my bunk and got the guitar. I played for a little bit while they all did whatever they were doing. I was rather content just playing and guy-watching. especially considering that some of them were not fully dressed. I supposed I would have to get used to it, though, if was going to be living with them. God, living with them.it was still very unreal. Oh well, better than some other places I could have landed in history. 


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This is one of my favorite chapters! Please R&R!  
  
I awoke the next morning to shouts of "Get up ya lazy bums! Time ta carry da banner!". Much more successful than an alarm clock, in my case at least. Not quite remembering where I was, in all senses, I was a bit confused, and scared. I sat straight up, which resulted in me hitting my head on the top bunk, and falling back down. Somehow, during this, I managed to get tangled in the sheet on my bed, rolled myself over and fell flat on my ass on the floor. Not entirely painless.  
  
"Ow," I said, amidst the laughter of the several conscious guys who had seen me fall. I stood up, not really caring that I was in just a nightshirt that only went down to my knees- it was covered enough for me, even if it wasn't for them. I grabbed my clothes and headed into the bathroom for what turned out to be a very cold- and very short- shower. I got dressed and pulled my hair back in a french braid- I figured it was reasonable for the period.  
  
"You look nice an' awake, Treble," Jack said as I bumped into him, eyes still half closed, leaving the washroom.  
  
"Oh shut up," I said, being the morning person that I am.  
  
"C'mon, ya want some food an' some coffee?" Skittery asked, coming over next to us.  
  
"Coffee.yes.please." I told him, and we made our way en masse to the D.O.  
  
I revived a bit over the coffee and bread, and tried really hard (honest I did!) to listen to Jack explain how to sell papes as we waited in line.  
  
"C'mon goil," he said as we left the D.O. (he'd said he was going to 'show me the ropes') "we'se got a busy mornin' ahead of us, gotta sell an' den we'se goin ta Brooklyn dis afternoon."  
  
That woke me up. "What?!" I most definitely did not like the idea of Brooklyn. Call me irrational, but I didn't have a very good first impression.  
  
"Spot don't miss nothin'. Da 'King a Brooklyn', so ta speak, hoid about us gettin' a newbie, an' a goil at dat. He wants ta meetcha."  
  
"And what, approve of me?" I wasn't entirely happy with the prospect.  
  
"More er less," Jack said. I just gave him a look. "What?" he asked.  
  
"An' what happens if he doesn't?" I asked, irritated.  
  
Jack just shrugged. I rolled my eyes and went back to selling.  
  
A little bit after lunch we were on our way to Brooklyn, with Blink and Race tagging along for the heck of it- and, I guessed, Spot's reaction. I wasn't looking forward to it but I figured I might as well get it over with. And Jack had made it fairly clear that he'd pick me up and carry me if need be- apparently you can't say 'no' to Spot Conlon. Again with the stupid male-dominated society, I thought as we crossed the bridge into Conlon's territory.  
  
"Well, well, well, if it ain't a newbie," someone (I assumed it was Spot) said as we walked onto the pier where Brooklyn congregated when it wasn't too cold. It was rather cold, but not unbearble- the sun had already melted all the snow that had fallen the night before.  
  
"How's it rollin', Spot?" Jack asked as I bit back several choice comments. I don't like being treated as inferior and so far that's what had been happening a great deal of the time.  
  
"Good. How's Manhattan, Jackie-boy?" Spot asked walking forward. I must admit, for a second there I almost forgot where I was. There is a reason he has a reputation as the most sought-after newsie in New York. Damn, was he hot. I quickly regained my senses though- no point in falling for an egotistical jackass (well, as far as I knew he was).  
  
"Fine. An' dis is-"  
  
"Treble," I cut in, spitting in my hand and holding it out. Spot did likewise, probably more an involuntary reaction than anything else.  
  
"A goil newsie, eh?" Spot said. "She any good at sellin'?" he asked Jack, obviously expecting an answer in the negative. I was getting the general impression that he did not think of females as equals.  
  
"She's a fast loiner," Jack said, truthfully enough.  
  
"She any good in bed?" he asked, smirking, obviously wanting a reaction out of me.  
  
He got what he wanted. I did the only reasonable, logical thing to do- I took two steps forwards and bitchslapped him as hard as I could. And I am no weakling. He reeled backwards, stumbling for a few steps before he came forward again. Although I was fully expecting what happened next, I still fell backwards with shock when he punched me. Only grabbing onto a post and Blink grabbing onto my arm stopped me from taking a nice swim in the freezing East River.  
  
"Fuck!" I shouted, not caring who heard me. I could practically feel the bruise growing right underneath my eye.  
  
"What the hell was that for?!" Spot and I both shouted at each other at the same time.  
  
"You know damn well what that was for, and you deserved it!" I told him.  
  
"So did you! No one, 'specially not a goddamned goil, hits Spot Conlon."  
  
I was fuming. It took several minutes of Jack and Spot exchanging words and Blink trying to rationalize with me before either of us calmed down enough to not hit the other.  
  
"Jesus Christ!" Jack finally shouted.  
  
"Well, he had no right to say that!" I shouted at Jack.  
  
"An' you shouldn't've fuckin' hit me!" Spot shouted at me.  
  
"You deserved it!"  
  
"So did you!"  
  
We stared each other down. Since he was rather short, only about 5 inches taller than me, it wasn't incredibly difficult. I'm guessing Spot has a pretty short temper because not long after the staring contest began he hit me again. He didn't hit me as hard, but the impact was still enough to force me backwards. Considering I was already standing on the edge of the pier, this wasn't a good thing. I grabbed the front of his shirt in a last-ditch effort to stop from falling, but instead of staying on the pier, I just pulled him in with me.  
  
The first thing I thought of when I hit the water was "Fuck it's cold", followed immediately by "I need air". I surfaced, treading water, and looked for a ladder or something. I found one and swam towards it, Spot a few yards ahead of me (not that I cared). I climbed out of the water, shivering, and glared at Spot.  
  
"Ya awlright?" Jack asked, concerned.  
  
"Just peachy," I replied. "Nice an' toasty." Spot almost grinned. Finally, I thought, someone my sarcasm wasn't completely lost on. He was completely drenched as well, and definitely paler than he had been. I knew I was too. The red handprint I had left showed particularly well against his pale cheek, and there was a visible bruise. I knew my bruise must have looked much worse against my pale skin.  
  
"Spot, can we take 'er ta da Lodgin' House ta warm up?" Jack asked, knowing as well as I did that I would most likely wind up with pneumonia if I didn't warm up soon. Spot just nodded, not speaking, and led the way.  
  
Brooklyn's Lodging House looked much like Manhattan's. Spot led me upstairs to the washroom. "Da foist two stalls have hot water, so you take one an' I'll use da odder, k?" he said, actually being civil. I just nodded and went into the stall, fully dressed. I stripped, shivering, and threw the clothes outside the stall as I turned on the water, praying it would actually be warm. Surprisingly, it did get warm; it didn't even take very long. I stayed in the shower for a few minutes- until I was finally warm. I grabbed the towel I'd seen outside the stall and wrapped myself in it before stepping out.  
  
Spot was drying off-quite unabashedly-when I stepped out. It took me a full second to realize what I was seeing before I turned around. "Ya know, Conlon," I said, "It's generally a good idea to have somethin' on when you step out of the shower."  
  
"Don't tell me ya didn't like what ya saw," he said, and I could hear the grin in his voice. "Ya can turn around now I'se covered up."  
  
I did so, and it was very apparent that I was blushing. I hate blushing- I have absolutely no power over it whatsoever.  
  
"Not bad yerself," he said.  
  
"Thanks," I said sarcastically. I was covered enough, but the towel was rather short. "Do you have some clothes I could borrow? Please?"  
  
He nodded and left. I stood there waiting, and he returned a minute later- fully dressed and holding some clothes in his hands. He handed them to me and leaned against the wall, making no apparent move to leave. I just stood there and looked at him.  
  
"Are you planning on leaving or are you just going to stand there and watch?" I asked, annoyed. "Go right ahead," he said, smirking. I just rolled my eyes, at the same time wondering where the Manhattan boys had disappeared to. I retreated to one of the empty (and dry) shower stalls to get dressed. He most certainly knew how to push my buttons, but *damn* was he hot.  
  
"I swear to God," I said through the door, "If you even *think* of opening that door.God help you because I will make you hurt." He laughed.  
  
"An' how exactly do ya plan on doin' that?" he asked. I was too busy getting dressed as quickly as possible to respond.  
  
A few seconds later I stepped out. The shirt was a bit big- the sleeves went over my hands, and it was missing a couple buttons that left me a little more exposed than I would like, but other than that it was fine. I was barefoot, but I didn't mind.  
  
"Where's Cowboy an' Blink an' Race?" I asked, pushing dripping wet hair out of my eyes. It was mess but I didn't mind. I randomly threw it up to keep my shirt from getting soaked.  
  
"Downstairs," Spot said.  
  
I picked up my wet clothes and shoes and headed for the stairs. \ "Goil, yer crazy," Spot said behind me. "Ya can't walk back ta Manhattan barefoot."  
  
"An' why's that?" I challenged. "My shoes're soaked."  
  
"Because it's stupid, yer feet'll freeze wid' awl da snow on da ground, it's fuckin' long walk an' you'll be lucky if ya ain't frostbit."  
  
"So? If I wear my shoes, there ain't gonna be any difference. They're just as wet and cold." He didn't seem to have a response to that.  
  
We were still arguing when we reached the main room where the Manhattan boys were.  
  
"Ya ready?" Jack asked me, cutting off the argument. I nodded.  
  
"Spot, ya comin'?" Race asked. "Big pokah night tanight."  
  
Spot looked daggers at me before nodding yes.  
  
"Well, it's gettin' close ta suppertime, we'se should probably be going." Jack said, being all leader-like. I turned around to pick up the clothes I'd put on the table, but I was stopped by Spot, who came over and picked me up so that I was hanging upside down over his shoulder.  
  
"Spot Conlon, put me the fuck down now!" I yelled.  
  
"Like I said," he said, calmly, "ya ain't walkin' back ta Manhattan barefoot." With that, he walked out of the Lodging House.  
  
"Conlon!" I shouted. Jack was right behind him, looking as if he was trying as hard as possible not to crack up laughing. "Jack!" I said, pleading. He just shook his head still trying not to laugh. He eventually gave up. Blink grabbed my clothes and the group of us headed back to Manhattan.  
  
When we reached the Lodging House it was after dark and I was cold. Despite the obvious discomfort of having a bony shoulder pressed up against my stomach for what was probably close to an hour, I was actually almost grateful. Although I never would have admitted it.  
  
"Damn, goil," Spot said, rubbing his shoulder after he'd set me down inside the Lodging House. "Dat hoits after awhile."  
  
"Serves ya right," I told him. We all signed in and headed upstairs. The boys all started their poker game but I just watched.  
  
"Hey Treble ya gonna entertain us er what?" Jack asked, half- jokingly. I went downstairs and got the guitar. I sat on my bunk, playing and singing for awhile, while the guys played poker and some of them just listened. After about an hour I started to get tired and decided to stop.  
  
"Dat wasn't half bad," Spot said to me, quietly, so the others wouldn't hear. Didn't want to spoil his precious reputation by giving out compliments, I suppose.  
  
"Thanks," I said, and smiled. That settled it- without speaking, Conlon had somehow managed to convey his approval. I was a newsie, whether I liked it or not. 


	7. Chapter 7

The next few days went rather smoothly. Or, well, as smoothly as it is possible to be when living with newsies- in three days Race managed to get a black eye, Mush got and lost another girl, and Jack came back one night covered head to foot with mud, but no apparent bruising. When asked, he refused to say anything beyond "Go away I wanna take a shower". On a more sane note, I managed to meet all the newsies, as well as those I referred to as their "groupies"- the current girls of all the guys who had girls (maybe 7 or 8), and some single ones who were eyeing certain newsies (4 or 5). And I managed to remember all of their names. Hey, I was rather impressed with myself- I'm horrible with names.  
  
Spot had left that next morning after buying papers, with a promise to come back soon. (Which, I supposed, was just to spite me.) We'd managed not to exchange words before he left, but what would happen the next time we happened to meet was a mystery to me. I got into the swing of both being a newsie and living with about 40 guys. One thing about guys- they are slobs. Now, make no mistake, so am I, but they were worse. Way worse. Oh well. I dealt with it, figuring that sooner or later someone else would take care of it; and if no one did, I might be forced into it.  
  
When I woke up on Sunday morning, it was well past five o'clock (normal getting up time- papes went out at 5:30). I was a little scared- the sun was fairly high up in the sky, it had to be near eleven at the earliest. I shook Race, who had the bunk next to me. (A/N: Snipes was on the other side, for those of you who have seen the movie one or ten too many times. *grins*)  
  
"Race!" I whispered loudly. Then louder, "Race!"  
  
"Wha-what? Why you wakin' me up?"  
  
"Why is everybody sleepin'? Did something happen? Is Kloppman sick, or-"  
  
"It's Sunday," he said, cutting me off. Seeming to think that was explanation enough, he rolled over and went back to bed.  
  
Jack, who had the bunk above him, had woken up. "Dere ain't no mornin' edition on Sundays, everybody's got da mornin' off fer church an' shit. Klopp don't wake us up till 11:30. Go back ta bed, goil."  
  
Feeling pretty damn stupid, I flopped back down on my bed. Well, flopped as well as I could, considering there was another bunk above my head. I feel back asleep, grateful there was one morning a week I could sleep in.  
  
The rest of the day went by normally, and another week followed, surprisingly uneventful. I kind of liked being a newsie- the freedom at least, even if it was always cold out.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
On Tuesday of the next week, it was business of usual, just joking around and having fun with the guys, who had all seemed to adopt me as a little sister, Jack especially. And damn, could they be over protective- no guy that they didn't know, whether he was a newsie or not, could come near me.  
  
"Honestly," I protested after another victim had been scared off, "how'm I supposed ta meet anybody?!" They just shrugged. I walked off, rolling my eyes (I tend to do that a lot).  
  
Well, that Tuesday, since God had decided that two embarrassing moments in one day weren't enough (I'd fallen out of bed again, and fallen down the stairs of the Lodging House, bruising myself considerably- stupid loose board), a certain person from Brooklyn decided to make an appearance.  
  
"Well look who it is, da King a Brooklyn hisself," I said, very sarcastically (getting into the swing of things also consisted of adopting the New York accent- which was fairly easy).  
  
"Well look who it is, da queen a sarcasm herself," he retorted easily. "Feel like takin' anuddah swim, liddle goil? Cuz, y'know, it could be arranged. Ya looked pretty good with yer clothes stuck to ya."  
  
Damnit, he really knew how to push my buttons. I managed not to punch him though. How, I'm not quite sure. "You really love ta piss me off, don't you?" I asked him.  
  
He shrugged. "It's somethin' ta do."  
  
I turned around and walked away, resisting the urge to wring his neck. I wasn't in a good mood- I was bruised and tired and I wasn't selling very well. Most sane people had decided to stay inside on account of the extreme cold. I, however, was out there freezing my ass off.  
  
"Where's Cowboy?" he asked, coming up behind me.  
  
"Why do ya need ta know?" I retorted.  
  
"Cuz I didn't walk all da way from Brooklyn just ta tease ya," he stated.  
  
"Oh really?" I replied, very sarcastically.  
  
"Yes, Treble, where is he?" he asked, in a surprisingly serious tone. For the first time, I was forced to take note of how impressive he actually was as a leader, and how frightening he could be if he wanted to.  
  
"He was sellin' in Central Park," I mumbled. "But he's probably done by now, he might be at Tibby's."  
  
Spot nodded. "Thank you." I was rather shocked. He gave me a second glance, and then added, "ya might wanna come along."  
  
"I'se still got papes ta sell," I told him, showing him the dozen papers I still had left. He gave me a look, one that I'd gotten often enough from Jack in the two weeks I'd been there. It said, clearly enough, "Don't argue".  
  
"Fine, fine, I'se comin'," I said, rolling my eyes and walking towards Tibby's.  
  
Jack and several other newsies were there when we walked in, but it was still early. Jack looked up, and he and Spot exchanged a glance. We walked over to the booth, and I swear there was some freaky telepathy thing going on, because all three newsies sitting there got up and left without another word. Spot sat across from Jack and I slid into next to him.  
  
Spot and Jack started talking in low tones. I couldn't hear and didn't bother trying- I'd find out soon enough. Their conversation was interrupted, however, when a waiter came over with Jack's food and to take our orders. Spot ordered, and when I didn't get anything, Jack ordered me a sandwich.  
  
"What was dat for?" I asked, indignant. I didn't have money to spend on lunch, and I'd be fine going without.  
  
"Ya need ta eat," he replied simply.  
  
"No I don't."  
  
"Yes ya do."  
  
"I ain't got da money for it."  
  
"Yes ya do, ya just don't wanna spend it."  
  
I sighed. "Fine. Wutevah," I said, giving up.  
  
The conversation continued, and I was finally included. Lately, tension had been building up between Manhattan and its neighboring territories, and supposedly the conflict was escalating. It was normal for a random newsie to come back at night with a black eye or a cut lip, so I hadn't thought much of it. I guess it'd been happening more often than normal lately, and I hadn't been there long enough to know.  
  
"Dey's gettin' tougher," Spot was saying, and Jack nodded in agreement. "Dere's a new leader, and pretty soon dey're gonna start comin' down hard. Startin' wid her," he said, looking at me.  
  
"Why me?" I asked.  
  
"Think about it," Jack said. "You'se little," I gave him a look when he said this, but he just ignored it and continued. "You'se da newest one heah, you'se a goil who all da guys have started treatin' like a sister, protectin' ya an' all, an' you'se easy ta beat. Ya can't fight, Treble," he said matter-of-factly. Then, after a pause, "An' dey can hoit you more easily den dey can hoit us," he said with a meaningful look. I bristled, even though I knew he was right. Just because he was right didn't mean I had to like it.  
  
"I wanna take her back ta Brooklyn wid me, Jacky-boy," Spot said. 


	8. Chapter 8

"I wanna take her back ta Brooklyn wid me, Jacky-boy," Spot said.  
  
"WHAT?!" I practically shouted. Heads turned. "Gentlemen," (and I stressed the word) "could we take this outside? I ain't in da mood ta make a scene taday," I said as calmly as possible. Which wasn't very calm at all- I was boiling. The three of us got up and walked out of the restaurant. The second we got out the door I started shouting.  
  
"Are you insane? Ya can't even stand me, what the hell do ya want me in Brooklyn for?! And what da hell makes ya think I would even go in da foist place?!"  
  
"Treble, could ya just shut up an' realize dis is fer yer own good?" Jack said, in a rather exasperated tone. I was sort of hurt- he'd never sounded like that before- like he was sick of me. "Listen, k? None a us want ya ta get hoit. It's safer in Brooklyn," (I snorted at this) "an' besides, soon as we get dis settled ya can come back."  
  
"An' how long is dat gonna be?" I asked, rudely.  
  
"I don't know," Jack said, forcefully.  
  
"God, goil, ya ain't even been heah t'ree weeks, how attached ta da place could ya be?" Spot asked. I just gave him a look."Besides, if Jack says ya go, ya go. Ya ain't got a say in it anyway, he's da leadah." He continued before I could interrupt. "Unless, a coise, ya wanna get soaked an' God knows what else by da boys from Queens?"  
  
I sighed. "Fine. You win."  
  
"So, whad'ya say, Jacky-boy?" Spot asked.  
  
"I say she goes. I was gonna ask ya if ya'd take her anyway, sometime soon, if ya hadn't stopped by taday." At this is looked at Jack furiously.  
  
"And I was gonna find dis out when?!"  
  
"When we got dere," Jack replied calmly.  
  
"Honestly!" I said (I say that a lot). "Boys!" With that, I walked off, in the direction of the Lodging House. Once I got there, I pulled my hair (which had been hanging down my back) into two french braids. I put them on the top of my head and put on the newsies cap I'd gotten the other day- it was the reason I had no money. I could think straighter with my hair up, and I felt safer looking more like a guy. The way my hair was, you couldn't tell it was long. I got the few things I had (namely, my backpack and a nightshirt), and went back downstairs, waving to Kloppman.  
  
Jack and Spot were waiting downstairs. "We should get goin', it might snow latah," Spot said. I nodded. "Don't be givin' my bunk away," I said, hitting Jack in the arm.  
  
" 'Course not," Cowboy said, hitting my hat so that it came down over my eyes. "I'll come see ya next week, let ya know how it's all workin' out."  
  
"Tell da boys I'll be back in a couple a weeks, k?"  
  
"Don't worry, I will."  
  
With that, we were off. It took quite awhile to walk to Brooklyn, longer than I'd thought. Neither of us said much. My thoughts were wandering, and I was actually starting to get a little bit homesick for the 21st century. Still, though, being a newsie- it was something different every day.  
  
It was close to dark when we finally reached Brooklyn. Spot and I headed into a restaurant for some dinner. I didn't order anything, again. When Spot gave me a questioning look, I just said.  
  
"I ain't hungry."  
  
"Yes ya are, why ain't ya eatin'?" he asked.  
  
"I wasn't lyin' when I said I didn't have any money before. I'se got barely enough fer papes in da mornin', I can go without fer a night."  
  
"No ya can't," Spot said, tossing me a coin and getting me some food. "I ain't gonna sit heah an' watch a goil go hungry."  
  
"Ya all make it sound like such a big deal dat I'se a goil," I said. "Why?"  
  
Spot shrugged. "Just ain't somethin' ya see everyday. Ain't nevah been one in Brooklyn before." That almost shocked me, but I sort of expected it.  
  
"Well I ain't any different from anybody else," I told him. "I'll pay ya back," I said, quieter, and that was the end of the conversation.  
  
I was a bit more myself by the time we got to the Brooklyn Lodging House. I signed in, despite the obvious stares of the boys who, I guessed, were only keeping their mouths shut because I was with Spot.  
  
"Fer cryin' out loud!" I said when I was finished. I took my cap of my head and my braids fell down. "Yes, I'se a goil, an' yes, I'se stayin heah, so pick yer chins up off da ground already!" I rolled my eyes, and with that I stormed up the stairs, followed a few seconds later by Spot. Which, actually turned out to be a good thing, because I had no idea where I was staying.  
  
I almost laughed when I saw Spot's face. It was a cross between amazed and amused, and at the same time he seemed to be masking the fact that he had any reaction at all.  
  
"Surprised 'em, didn't I?" I said, grinning. It dawned on me that we were actually being civil to each other. It was scary.  
  
"You'se gonna stay in heah," Spot said, pointing to a closed door, in answer to my unasked question. I opened the door and walked in. It was surprisingly clean but fairly barren, even though it was apparent someone lived there- the bed was unmade.  
  
"Who's room is it?" I asked, putting my bag down.  
  
"Mine," Spot said, smirking. "Dere ain't any bunks left."  
  
"Spot Conlon ya knew dere weren't any bunks left when ya said I could stay here!"  
  
"Yup. We'se can share da bed," he said, again with that famous grin of his.  
  
I'd had enough. I couldn't take any more. I punched him, right in the eye, before storming out and down the stairs. "He's enough ta drive a person insane!" I said in exasperation to the man behind the counter, who bore a remarking resemblance to Kloppman. I left the lodging house and started walking down the street.  
  
I didn't hear Spot coming up behind me but I didn't doubt that he was there. I was still shocked, though, when he grabbed my arm and shoved me into a nearby alley. He slammed me against the wall with a force I hadn't seen used before.  
  
"NEVAH do dat again," he said, his eyes flaming. "You nevah undermine me in da presence a me boys, got it?" I panicked. He was seriously scary. I nodded, not saying anything, and I knew I looked scared but I couldn't hide it. Maybe he noticed, because his grip loosened, even though he didn't let go.  
  
He spoke again, still forcefully, but not screaming. "Dis is Brooklyn. My territory. An' I'se got a reputation ta keep up. Jacky-boy ain't heah ta keep yer temper in check, er mine eiddah, so watch it, ok? I ain't gonna hurt ya, an' I don't want ta, but don't push me." I nodded and he let me off the wall. He led me out of the alley and marched me back to the lodging house, not letting go of the grip he had on my arm. I didn't fight him- I figured if he wanted to keep up appearances, he might as well, and I'd seen enough of the scarier side of Spot Conlon for one night.  
  
He dragged me up the stairs and pushed me into the room. I landed on the bed. "I'se gonna have a bruise there," I informed him.  
  
"Yeah, well, so'm I." Just then came the call for lights out. Oh joy, sharing a bed with Spot Conlon, exactly what I'd most been looking forward to. *Sarcasm* I sighed and started towards the door. Spot was still in front of it.  
  
"Where do ya think yer goin'?" he challenged.  
  
"Ta change, where else? So move already," I said. He refused.  
  
"Look, I ain't gonna be watchin' er anythin', alright? Yer safer changin' in heah den ya are in dere, dey ain't as honest. You change in dat corner an' I'll change ovah heah, alright?"  
  
I knew he was right. I would never have admitted it. I just gave up and changed; I was getting sick of giving up. I crawled into bed, ignoring the fact that Spot got in a second later, and stayed as far away from him as possible. I fell asleep immediately, despite the circumstances.  
  
And still, I didn't want to go home. I wouldn't have given it up for anything, at least not yet. 


	9. Chapter 9

I woke up early the next morning; it must have been the position I was in. I was about half an inch away from falling off the bed. Maybe your body has some weird internal thing where it's just like "uh-oh, pain alert!" and wakes you up before something happens. Well, probably not. It's just one of those dumb ideas I have.  
  
Anyway, I was up. I got dressed quickly and quietly- the last thing I wanted was for Spot to wake up in the middle of me changing. I crept out of the room and down the hall into the washroom to get ready. I was hoping I didn't meet any Brooklyn newsies on the way- they didn't appear to be as happy-go-lucky or friendly as most of the Manhattan boys were. I'm sure they're great guys, I just hadn't gotten to know them yet.  
  
I finished in the washroom and hid all my hair up in my cap again. I walked out of the Lodging House to sit on the steps and wait for everyone else. As much as I did not want to feel like Spot had some sort of control over me, I didn't have half a clue where the distribution office was. And besides, I'd made a sort of unspoken promise with Cowboy that I'd actually watch myself- Brooklyn wasn't any place to wander around and get lost in.  
  
Spot came out about thirty seconds ahead of the rest of the newsies. "I'se was beginning ta think ya went back ta Manhattan," he said.  
  
"You'se kiddin'?" I asked, standing up. "If I went back dere, Jack'd just kick me out again. He don't always act like much of a leader, but he can be when he wants ta be. Besides," I continued, "I ain't got half a clue where I'se goin' in Brooklyn."  
  
Spot smirked (of course). "A coise ya ain't. C'mon, we'se gotta get ta da D.O."  
  
I sighed as I followed him, deciding that I needed to find my own way around Brooklyn as soon as possible. I was *not* going to spend the next few weeks two steps behind Spot, like some sort of inferior.  
  
I was in a surprisingly good mood that morning. It might have been the weather- it was sunnier and warmer than it had been in awhile. Whatever it was, I was pretty happy. I got my papers, said hello to a few of the newsies who'd seen me sign in the night before (I figured I might as well be friendly- I was going to be living with them for awhile), and joined Spot, who'd been waiting for me outside the gates. Basically, it was the same routine as Manhattan- get the papes, sell, go back in the afternoon for the second edition.  
  
I sold with Spot that morning, and tried to learn my way around Brooklyn. The people were the same- snobby and rude. Especially to girls. Whatever, at least I wasn't getting arrested for wearing pants. The papers sold fairly quickly, and both Spot and I managed to keep ourselves busy enough to avoid conversation.  
  
If I had to spend the next three weeks like this, I was going to get very, very bored.  
  
Lunchtime was slightly more eventful. I'd been picking up a few tricks to the game, so I wound up with quite a bit more money than I'd started with that morning, which equaled.yup, you guessed it, food! Two or three (if I was lucky) meals a day with no little extras is very hard to get used to. But I managed- I ate a lot when I had the money. I think some of the newsies were pretty surprised- I wasn't very big but I sure as hell could eat. I actually managed to have conversation with a few of them during lunch.  
  
"Aces," one of them said, spitting in his hand and holding it out.  
  
"Treble," I replied, doing the same.  
  
"Play pokah?" he asked.  
  
"Badly," I replied, nodding.  
  
"Well, I'se could show ya a few tricks sometime, if ya want."  
  
"Shoah," I said, smiling. Damn were there a lot of hot guys in Brooklyn.  
  
A few other newsies, Aces among them, sat with Spot and I at lunch. It was the same routine as Manhattan, just a bit rougher.  
  
"What's da name for?" one of them asked me.  
  
"I sing," I told him. "What's yer name?"  
  
"Rivah," he told me.  
  
"Where'd that come from?" I asked.  
  
Spot answered for him. "He took a swim da foist time we met." There were a few laughs, mostly from the older newsies, who I figured had been there at the time.  
  
I smirked. "Sounds familiar."  
  
"So goil, ya gonna sing fer us some time?" another newsie called out.  
  
"Maybe," I said. "If I feel like it."  
  
"K boys, we'se got papes ta sell," Spot said, standing up. And that was the end of lunch.  
  
A/N: Ok, I apologize for that being rather pointless. Still and all, I needed a transition chapter and this seemed to work. More interesting chapters lie ahead! Please, review and let me know what you think! 


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Ok, so this one should be better than the last one *wink*. Let me know what you think!!  
  
"Spot Conlon, you want them ta think we'se sleepin' tageddah!" I yelled, very angrily, and very accusingly. But I was so right- the episode downstairs had been enough to prove that. It was late at night a few days later, a little after 11:00.  
  
"Now why da hell is youse goin' around accusin' me a sumthin' like dat?" he yelled back. His temper flared up very quickly- I was beginning to notice this. Then again, so did mine.  
  
"Because it's fuckin' true and you know it!" I was still shouting. "All dem guys downstairs can't even *look* at me wid'out shootin' a noivous glance at you foist." It was surprising how easily I slipped into a New York accent. It was practically second nature already- especially when I was pissed. And boy was I pissed.  
  
"So what if I do?" Spot shot back, much quieter, which got my attention.  
  
"What?!" I yelled.  
  
"So I want dem ta think we'se sleepin' taggeddah, you'se already accused me of it, now you'se got a problem wid' me admittin' it?!"  
  
"So what if I accused ya of it I still din't expect ya ta admit it!"  
  
"Why da hell not?"  
  
"Could we *please* try and stay on topic here?" I was quickly going from mad to annoyed. "Why da hell would ya want dem thinkin' such a thing in da foist place? We can't even fuckin' stand each other fer cryin' out loud!"  
  
"I did it fer yer own good so why can't ya just shut up about it?!" he yelled.  
  
I moved past him and sat on the bed. I was sick of standing and shouting- it's all I had been doing all day. "How da hell is lyin' about me sex life fer me own good?" I asked him.  
  
He rolled his eyes, as if it should have been obvious. I had a good idea of what was coming, the 'innocent little girl' speech, but I figured I'd listen anyway in case he had a better excuse. "Listen, awlright? Brooklyn ain't da safest place in da woild. Dere's plenty a boys playin' men out dere just dyin' ta get dere hands on a pretty little goil. An' some a dem is me newsies. I'se got their respect but you shoah as hell don't," (I glared at him for this) "an' unless I'se got some sort a claim on ya you'se gonna be in a helluva lotta trouble." I sighed, knowing for all his egotistical, jack-ass qualities he did have the right intention, even if he hadn't gone about it in the best way possible.  
  
"Fine, I'll play along wid' yer little.dream-woild fantasy," I told him, knowing it would piss him off.  
  
"Who da hell says it's a fantasy?" He retorted.  
  
"Dat's awl it is," I informed him. "C'mon Spot, ya know ya only want what ya can't have," I said, messing with his mind.  
  
"Oh really? An' what is it dat I can't have?"  
  
"Me," I said simply.  
  
"Says who? An' who says I can't anyway?"  
  
"I do."  
  
"Y'know, I could if I really wanted to," he said, menacingly.  
  
And I hated him because it scared me. "You wouldn't," I told him, honestly scared for about two seconds.  
  
"Nah, I probably wouldn't," he grinned. "But I could. An' it scares da crap outta ya." He seemed to find that conclusion very amusing.  
  
"Oh, honestly!" I said, quickly going back from annoyed to very pissed off, and embarrassed. I hate it when people can sense my feelings, because I'm usually good at hiding them. I grabbed my bag and went to the window, which (conveniently) had a fire escape that led up to the roof.  
  
It was the first time in all the time I'd been there that I'd been able to listen to my cd player, and I was grateful for it. I didn't even mind the cold. My life was usually centered around music.I sang practically every day and I constantly had the radio on or a cd playing. No music was starting to drive me crazy.  
  
I'd already listened to one of my mix cd's (burners are awesome) and was starting on a second when I heard footsteps. I shoved my cd player into my bag quickly, because regardless of who it was it would not have been a good idea to expose them to the 21st century. Too much for me to handle in one night.  
  
I was half-expecting it to be Spot, so I was a little surprised when the figure turned out to be Aces. "Heya Treble," he said coming to sit down next to me. He was one of the nicer Brooklyn newsies, and it seemed to me like he'd fit in better with the Manhattan crew than he did here. He did have a rep as a tough guy though, which I didn't understand at all and didn't try to. I was grateful for the company.  
  
"Hey," I replied.  
  
"So, you an' Spot have a fight 'er somethin'? We'se could heah shoutin' from downstairs but none a us wanted ta risk eavesdroppin'." I laughed. They certainly did have more respect for Spot's temper than I did.  
  
"Let's not even go there," I told him, exasperated.  
  
"Wanna talk about it?" he asked.  
  
I shook my head. "Not tanight. I'se oughta be headin' back down dere before he comes up heah. Me brain can't handle any more smart-ass remarks tanight," I said, half-laughing.  
  
"Well, tamorrow den," he said. He seemed convinced.  
  
"Shoah," I told him. I wouldn't have minded talking to him at all- he could almost rival Spot as far as looks, and was miles ahead of him in personality.  
  
"But not heah?" he half-asked. "I don't wanna risk." he trailed off and I nodded in understanding. "Da bridge. Midnight awlright?"  
  
"Yeah," I said.  
  
"Awlright. I'll see ya dere then," he said and left. I followed him down the ladder a minute later, going into Spot's window. I succeeded in tripping over the windowsill on the way in, hitting my head, and falling on the ground.  
  
"Ow," I said simply, and a few seconds later the light was turned on, revealing a very amused, very shirtless Spot. "Don't say a woid," I threatened as he stood there, silently laughing. "Now could ya please turn da light back off so I'se could get changed?" I was cranky I'll admit it. I make an idiot out of myself entirely too often for my own liking. I'm surprised my nickname wasn't related to the fact that I am incredibly accident-prone.  
  
I changed quickly and crawled into bed, mumbling "g'night" as I did so. I fell asleep quickly, ignoring the person next to me. Tomorrow was another day, but the routine was getting old fast. 


	11. Chapter 11

"Are ya plannin' on ignorin' me awl day?" Spot asked the next morning, about halfway through selling.  
  
"I'se busy, thank ya very much," I informed him. Spot snorted.  
  
I turned around. "What da hell was dat for?" I asked.  
  
"I'se jus' tryin' ta imagine ya awl prissy, in a dress thinkin' youse bettah den everybody else," he told me. If he'd been one of my friends, I would've smacked him upside the head for that comment. But, since he wasn't, I couldn't.  
  
"I do NOT wear dresses, thank ya very much. An' I ain't bettah den everybody else, I'se jus' a bit smarter den some," I said.  
  
"Whatevah."  
  
I rolled my eyes and continued selling. The rest of the day was pretty much the same- the two of us selling, making cracks at each other all the while. All in all, it wasn't horrible. That night, however, was as bad as the previous one. I got sick of it and went upstairs early, pretending to go to bed. (Aces and I were still planning to meet that night, and I was sort of looking forward to it.)  
  
Spot was obviously not in a very good mood when he came up to the room later. I rolled over and pretended to be asleep, but he did not have a problem making a considerable amount of noise. It's not that hard to take off a shirt and pants without slamming things and throwing them against the wall, but I guess he wasn't aware of that. Honestly, I didn't know how we managed to stand each other at all. If every night was going to be like this, I was going back to Manhattan next week, no matter what Jack said.  
  
I hadn't seen Aces that night, so I guessed he was out somewhere and was just meeting me by the bridge. When I thought it was around midnight, I got up, put my shoes on and left via the fire escape, leaving the window open so I could get back in.  
  
It took about ten minutes to walk to the bridge, and about halfway there I realized that being alone, and female, in Brooklyn, in the middle of the night, was probably not the smartest thing I've ever done. But I was stubborn, so I kept walking, ignoring my subconscious, which had a big, bright *WARNING* light flashing.  
  
I hadn't seen Aces by the time I reached the bridge. Though the street was dim, the bridge itself was well enough lit that I couldn't see anyone on the Brooklyn side of it. I turned around, figuring he would be coming from somewhere in Brooklyn, and saw several shapes coming out of the shadows.  
  
"Well, well, well, what have we heah? Looks like a Manhattan newsie out by herself," said a voice. Goddamn the fact that I had long, bright hair and no hat.  
  
"What da hell do you want?" I demanded, angrily. I can sound pissed even when I'm scared out of my mind- which I was approaching.  
  
The leader was close enough so I could smell his breath. "What do ya think?" he asked.  
  
And then it dawned on me- he'd called me a Manhattan newsie. "Fuck. Queens," I said, coming to this realization out loud.  
  
"Yup," he said. "Wid' a liddle help from Brooklyn, a coise," he said with a little laugh.  
  
I looked to the side, and sure enough, Aces was standing there, a little bit back. "Heya Treble," he said, cocky.  
  
"You bastard." I managed to get out, before something hard hit the back of my head and everything went dark. 


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Well, for now the story's going to be continuing from two points of view (Treble's and Spots, but Spot's will still be third person, because this is Treble's story), because Treble can't possibly have any clue what's going on anywhere besides where she is, and it's kind of crucial (or at least more interesting) for you guys (the readers) to know. ~*~*~ will indicate a point of view change, but it should be pretty obvious anyway. So, go read!  
  
I awoke on a small, creaky bed a little while later. I was grateful for two things: 1) I wasn't tied up, and 2) I still had all my clothes on. I was not very happy, however, to discover both a growing bruise and a tremendous headache. Well, getting hit on the head with a heavy, blunt object will do that to you, I guess.  
  
"Ugh," I said, sitting up and holding my head. I was not alone. The bed I was on was in a dark corner of what I guessed was a basement somewhere, considering the only window was a small high up one, the type you typically find in basements. There were a few chairs a few feet away from the bed, filled with 7 tough-looking guys who were definitely not newsies.  
  
"Well, about time ya woke up," one of them said.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Spot woke up the next morning, freezing. "Goddamn dat goil she left da window open," he thought to himself. He did not seem at all surprised that she was not in the room because, in truth, he wasn't. Figuring she'd gone to get her papers early or sit outside, like she'd done before, he just sighed and went about getting ready. He was a little worried when he didn't see her outside but didn't think anything of it. When she wasn't at the D.O., though, he started to get a little panicked. Sure, she sorta knew her way around Brooklyn, but she wasn't stupid enough to go of selling on her own, was she? She knew how pissed he'd be if she had, and he'd scared her before- threatened her, even. Spot smirked. She was cute when she was scared, especially when she was pissed at herself for being scared. He shook that thought from his mind though- cute she may be but he sure as hell couldn't stand her.  
  
"Hey, Knives, Irish," he called to two of his newsies. "Ya seen Treble dis mornin'?" he asked, trying to be casual.  
  
"Naw," Knives replied, for the both of them.  
  
"We'se t'ought she was wid' you," Irish added.  
  
"She's probably jus' of somewheres," Spot said, shrugging. "Ya know how goils are." The other two laughed, nodding.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone watching him. Aces had a peculiar look on his face, almost of malice, though for all the time Spot had known him he'd been rather passive- fighting when required, but not caring otherwise. But when Spot met his glance directly, he paled almost noticeably. "Now, dere's somethin' wrong dere," Spot thought, and made a mental note to speak with Aces later as he started to sell his papers, keeping his eye out for Treble. "Goils is more trouble den dey's woith," he muttered.  
~*~*~*~  
  
"Where da hell am I?" I asked, tiredly. My head hurt too much for me to make any effort to sound pissed.  
  
"Why da hell do ya need ta know?" he shot back.  
  
I ignored the question. "You'se ain't newsies," I commented.  
  
"A coise we ain't," he said, as if this should have been painfully obvious the first second I looked at them. "We'se da Shadows," he said, proudly. I rolled my eyes. (A/N: Yeah, yeah, it's a stupid name, so sue me. Or better yet, help me come up with a better one! Ideas welcome!!)  
  
"You'se da ones dat's been buggin' Manhattan. What da hell does a gang want wid' newsies territory?" I asked. I wanted as much information as I could get. By then, I'd been conscious long enough for a certain degree of surpressed panic to set in (meaning major adrenaline rush), and I was wide awake and my brain was, surprisingly, functioning.  
  
"What do ya think?" he replied. I didn't think he cared whether I knew or not, and I didn't like that. It meant they weren't planning on my going anywhere anytime soon. "We'se wants more room ta spread out. An' a coise we could always use more boys."  
  
"You'se gonna make 'em join?!" I almost yelled, disbelieving.  
  
"Why da hell not?"  
  
A question like that deserved a glare, which is what it got. After a few seconds pause, I asked, "You'se got a bathroom I'se could use?"  
  
He jerked his head in the direction of a door across the room. I got up and made my way across, uneasy with the eyes of all of the boys on me. I managed to shut the door behind me before seriously freaking. I didn't think they were going to kill me, because obviously they'd kidnapped me for some purpose, and I wasn't much good dead. That still left endless possibilities. The one at the top of my list, however, was the most obvious- considering in the room right next to me was a group of rude, capable, crude, streetsmart teenage boys. And most teenage boys wanted one thing from a teenage girl and thinking about it was freaking me out even more. Nothing bad had happened yet, and there was still the possiblity of someone showing up- some newsie, I wasn't depending on any bulls. I was powerless to do anything but wait.  
  
Good Lord I was a fucking damsel in distress.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
When Treble hadn't show up by lunchtime, Spot had really started to worry. And when Spot was worried, he was edgy. People tended to stay out of his way. He smirked at that. They should. He remembered Aces' expression that morning, and decided it was worth checking up on.  
  
He cornered Aces once most of the newsies had finished lunch and were heading back to the D.O.  
  
"Aces," he called from a nearby alley, "get ovah heah. We'se got business to attend to." He was twirling his cane around his fingers, and he had a very powerful expression on his face.  
  
Aces walked over casually. "Yeah, Spot, what's up?"  
  
"Me goil," he said. He hated the thought of calling Treble his girl, but he had to keep up appearances. He laughed inside at what she would say if he knew what he'd just said. "She's missin'. An' you'se knows somethin' about it," he stated matter-of-factly.  
  
"Me? Why should I'se know somethin' about it?" Aces scoffed.  
  
"Cuz I'se beginnin' ta think she snuck out last night. An' you helped."  
  
"I don't know nuthin' about it," Aces said again.  
  
Spot threw him a punch that landed square in the eye. Aces wasn't expecting it. A second later Spot had him pinned against the side of the building. "Where the fuck is she? An' you'se better tell da truth or me an' alla Manhattan will soak ya fer all yer woith."  
  
He didn't like being confrontational with his own newsies, but he was beginning to think Aces had gone behind his back. And if there was anything Spot hated, it was people double-dealing.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
One of the guys tripped me as I was walking back to the bed (having no place else to go, I'd figured I'd at least be somewhat comfortable). Another one grabbed me to stop me from falling- a little bit too high above the waist. And he left his hand there a little bit too long after I'd regained my balance. My old temper came through (I can't help it, no matter what the sitution, and I sure as hell am glad of it otherwise I'd be walked all over) and I shoved his hand off.  
  
"Watch what yer doin', asshole," I said through gritted teeth.  
  
"Watch yer mouth, sweetface," he countered. "You'se forgettin' ya ain't here by choice." He grinned wickedly. I glared. Asshole.  
  
"Ya better watch how ya talk, goil," the one who'd spoken before said. I still didn't know his name. "Red ain't gonna like dat when he shows up. An' he's gonna be showin' up pretty soon."  
  
"Who da hell is dat?" I asked, back to my usual self-assured, loaded with sarcasm tone of voice. I was gaining confidence, but I knew sooner or later I was going to get the crap kicked out of me because of it.  
  
"Who da hell do ya think? He's da leadah, we'se calls him Red cuz of his hair, an' ya bettah show some proper respect or at least pretend ya's scared of 'im, or else he'll make ya scared. Very scared. In da type a way dat only guys can make goils scared, ya get what I'se sayin'?" he said, threateningly. I didn't realize then that he was offering some real advice. I just thought he was trying to intimadate me. And, hell, did he succeed.  
  
I went back over to the bed and sat down. "Get some sleep," he ordered me. "We awl bettah get some sleep," he said. He pointed at the two guys closest to me, both rough-looking and in their late teens. "You'se two is on watch. Don't let 'er go anywhere. An' if she says anything," he looked at me, "shut her up."  
  
I laid down and closed my eyes, willing myself to go to sleep. Damn, did my head hurt. I couldn't think anymore. I wanted to forget about wherever the hell I was.  
~*~*~*~  
  
Spot had gotten all the information he was going to from Aces. He needed to get to Manhattan, and fast. He hopped a trolley and headed for Tibby's, hoping most of the newsies were still at lunch. 


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Hey folks! I'm back again, and here's another chapter for ya, hope ya enjoy it. I really want to improve a lot of what I've written, I'm not exactly proud of it, but I'll try to keep the updates coming. As it is, here's the next chapter! Go, read and REVIEW!!!  
  
As scared as I was, I still somehow managed to fall asleep. The adrenaline rush gave out, I guess, and I was exhausted. I kept my mouth shut and closed my eyes, thinking of home for the first time in ages, and fell asleep. When I woke up, the room was bright with mid-morning sunlight, streaming in through the few too-small-to-escape-through windows that made me guess I was in the basement of some building- who the hell knows where. I sat up, rubbing my eyes- the headache was mostly gone, but the spot on my head where I'd been hit was sore.  
  
Standing over me, as if he'd known I was going to wake up at that moment, was a well-built 18-year-old with fire engine red hair. I'd finally come face to face with the person who'd been terrorizing the newsies and who'd ordered (and no doubt arranged) my kidnapping- the leader of the Shadows himself- Red. I just looked up at him (sarcastically, as always), not knowing what to make of him. He was strong- he could hurt me, if he wanted to- and smart, but streetsmart, not intelligent, it was obvious. He was also cocky- he had what looked like a permanent smirk, similar to Spot's- but Spot's was deserved, his was not. He got to his position by forming alliances and pulling other people down, not winning it honestly. There was a trace of deceit, as plain as day, in every moment he made, and it settled in his eyes.  
  
Yeah, I was scared. But he wasn't unbeatable, and that gave me optimism. If I could just keep my mouth shut until someone showed up, I might make it through alive.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Spot showed up at Tibby's just as the last of the newsies were leaving. Jack was still inside, one of the last to leave, but Spot grabbed him as he came out.  
  
He didn't waste time. "Jackie-boy we'se got problems."  
  
Jack's face darkened. "Spill."  
  
"It ain't newsies," Spot informed him. Jack looked confused. "It's some goddamned gang, called da Shadows. Outta Queens. Dey wants territory, dey ain't got much, dey already gots some a Queens, an' dey figure Manhattan's easiah ta get den da rest of it."  
  
"So how do dey plan on takin' it? Da only claim we'se got on da territory is sellin' spots, we don't own it."  
  
"Ya live heah. Dat's all dey need. Jack, it's more complicated den just dat," Spot said, almost warning.  
  
Jack looked at him, sensing there was something Spot wasn't telling him. He finally realized what it had to be and asked, "Treble?"  
  
Spot nodded. "Shit," Jack said. "How?"  
  
"Ya remembah me boy Aces, showed up a couple a months ago?"  
  
Jack nodded. "Da quiet one, dat can beat almost anybody at pokah?"  
  
"Yeah. He got 'er las' night, 'im an' a few of da gang. I'se got half a clue wheah she is, but I ain't shoah." He frowned. "Da leadah's got a rep. He's good, but he ain't dat good. An' he'll take what he wants from her an' he ain't gonna waste no time on it."  
  
"Almost sounds like ya got a plan," Jack commented, evenly.  
  
Spot smirked. "I do."  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"No need ta ask yer name," I said. "Not wid' dat head a hair."  
  
He smirked. "What, ya got a problem with it?"  
  
"Nah, ain't got nuttin' poisonal against redheads. Don't fall head ovah heels for 'em either, though. Now, me friend Ashley, ya so much as point one out to 'er an' she's gone." I was babbling, and I knew it, but I needed some way to get rid of the tension that was building up.  
  
"Dey told me an awful lot about you but dey nevah mentioned dat ya didn't shut up."  
  
"I only shut up when I'se got a reason to. An' who's 'they'?" I challenged.  
  
"Funny. I t'ought ya were smart enough ta have figured dat out. An' if ya *don't* shut up I'll *give* ya a reason to, awlright?" he threatened.  
  
"Ya got a deal," I said, evenly, looking him in the eye. I wasn't about to show him I was intimidated.  
  
"Good," he replied. "Now, we'se got business to attend to," he said, sitting in a chair next to the bed. I moved away involuntarily. He smirked.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
It was later that same day. Spot, Jack, and a few choice boys from both Manhattan and Brooklyn, all of them in their later teens, sat in the "parlor" of the Manhattan Lodging House.  
  
"We'se gotta put a stop ta dis," Jack was saying. "It's getting' old an' it's getting' deadly." The newsies all nodded their agreement. "Spot, you got a plan?" he asked.  
  
Spot nodded. "Yeah. An' it's gonna take awl of us. Now, here's what we do."  
  
A/N: Corny? Sure. Dramatic? Overly. Predictable? Hells yes. My apologies. But I really just had to get it out of my system.and now it's gone. So.next chapter. Coming soon. When my brain decides to work again. And haha it is going to kick ass. So don't stop reading just because of this chapter- the best is yet to come, I promise. Hope you enjoyed it, now be nice and go review! 


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Well, folks, here we go with another chapter. Those of you who generally skip author's notes: you might want to read this one. I'm borderline "R" in this chapter, with some pretty heavy suggestions of things to come. Anyone who hasn't picked up the hint by now of what could possibly happen in this chapter, here's your warning. If you're sensitive to the subject, this could bother you. I'm not gonna say any more cuz I really don't wanna spoil the suspense for the people who have read this too much to be affected by it (it's not a good thing, but I've read it in more than a few fan fics). So, with all that unhappiness, go read! And let me know what you think, please! I'm very sorry if anybody is offended by this, that is not my intent in the slightest- I'm seriously only trying to be realistic.  
  
I was sitting up on the bed, leaning on one hand; the other was free to block any blows that might be headed in my direction. "You'se afraid of me," he said, almost matter-of-fact but with a smirk that conveyed an unspoken message: "I've got you beat and we both know it". "Not really," I said, shrugging nonchalantly, even though my heart rate had doubled. I knew I'd dug myself a hole before the words even left my mouth. He slapped me before I could even get my hand up to block him. "Let's work on that then, shall we?" he said menacingly. I backed away.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Two of Spot's boys headed to the Manhattan Lodging House. They ran in, looking for Spot. "We got 'em," one of them said. Spot nodded and they sat down, both out of breath. "So where are they?" he asked.  
  
"Run down building on the outskirts of Queens. Basement. We followed Aces, like ya said, an' he led us right to 'em. We checked some a da windows just ta make sure. She's dere awl right, wasn't anyone with her dat we could see, but I can't imagine 'em wastin' much time," the one closest to Spot answered.  
  
"We gotta get goin," Jack said. Spot nodded. He pointed to the two boys that had most recently arrived. We'se splitting inta two groups. You'se each gotta be in one of 'em an' show us where we'se goin'. Ya missed most of what's goin' on so we'll fill ya in on the way."  
  
Without another word they got up and left.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
By the time he climbed up on the bed I'd run out of room to back away. He grabbed my ankles and pulled me down towards him, hard, so that I fell flat on my back. He got on top of me so that I couldn't move and held my wrists with one hand so I couldn't fight back. I was scared out of my wits with tears running down my face; I wasn't going to scream because I knew it wasn't any good, and I was too scared to even beg.  
  
"What'samatta liddle goil? We scared now?" he asked, horribly. He'd undone most of the buttons on my shirt when the door burst open.  
  
Red's head snapped towards the door but he didn't let go of me. The boy standing in the doorway opened his mouth before Red had a chance to say anything. "Listen, Red, I know dis ain't da best a times, but we'se got some problems. Big ones." His tone of voice showed that he was deadly serious. Red snarled in disgust. He muttered under his breath as he got off me.  
  
My heart rate was three times faster than it should have been, and I was still crying, breathing heavily. He never let go of my hands as he reached for something under the bed. I assumed that whatever had caused this other guy to barge in (which I could not have put into words how grateful I was for) was urgent, because it was only a matter of moments before he'd located what he was looking for, snapped my hands behind my back (painfully- I twisted my shoulder) and tied them there. After a moment of contemplation he pulled a bandana from his back pocket and gagged me.  
  
He left the room without another thought and the door slammed hard behind him. I leaned against the wall, still in total shock, and pulled my knees up to my chest to cover myself. Finally, I could breathe normally, and it was only then that I broke down completely, shaking from head to toe as I cried. 


	15. Chapter 15

The first group spread themselves out around the building; the second headed for the door. They were at the height of their strength: both Spot and Jack had had a basic plan in mind for an attack of this sort for weeks now. The combined efforts of Brooklyn and Manhattan, fully armed, were about to rain down on the Shadows of Queens.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Not long after Red had left I began to hear shouting outside. I knew that something big had happened, and I could only pray that the next person walking into the room was going to be taking me out of there. I didn't have to wait long.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
It had all been plotted out beforehand; the newsies moved effortlessly into position. Street smarts had definitely had an effect on Jack and Spot; their military strategism came from years of experience, and they did not play fair. The newsies swarmed the building, taking the Shadows on by surprise and attacking full force while the gang members bewilderedly searched for their weapons and tried to fend off the attack.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
My heart rate quickened again as the door swung open. The first things I saw were a cowboy hat and a red bandana. I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God.now if only I could get out of there alive.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The fighting was heavy, both sides being pretty much equally matched and equally armed: with brass knuckles, chains, and (in the case of the Brooklyn newsies) slingshots. Spot lead the fight, closely followed by Jack, whose main mission was to track down Treble. He soon located the locked door and, after tackling another Shadow, made his way in.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Jack rushed over to the bed where I was: bruised, tearstained, and incredibly conscious of the fact that my knees weren't suitable to cover up my exposed chest. He undid the gag around my mouth. "It's about- fucking- time," I managed to get out. He didn't say anything right away, but started to undo the knots that held my hands behind my back. "Did he..are you..?" He didn't quite get the question out but it wasn't necessary. "No," I shook my head, saying it as briefly as possible. The last thing I wanted was to start crying again. He understood, and concentrated on the knots. Once my hands were free, I covered myself back up, wincing from the pain in my shoulder as I buttoned my shirt up.  
  
"C'mon," Jack said, helping me to my feet. "You gonna be awlright?" he asked. I nodded, and then everything went black.  
  
*(Brief A/N: From here on out the story is going back to 1 POV. This whole chapter has probably been a bit odd/confusing so far. Well, deal. It was intended to be. But from this point on, it should make a bit more sense. And no more jumping from person to person. I suck at writing out fight scenes so ha. You're just stuck with Treble's point of view and you'll have to get it all from word of mouth.)*  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
When I woke up I was back in bed in the Brooklyn Lodging House. "What the fuck happened?" I asked, looking around the room. Jack was the only person in it. "Ya want da long story or da short one?" he asked.  
  
"Spare me."  
  
"Ya fainted."  
  
"Oh," I replied, less puzzled. "Good Lord, could I be more of a girl?" I asked no one in particular, slightly disgusted with myself.  
  
"It's understandable," said Spot, who had just walked in the room and overheard my comment.  
  
"I suppose so. What happened? Why am I in Brooklyn?" I asked, wanting to know what had happened.  
  
"Well, foist things foist," Spot started. "We won, obviously. Da Shadows have had deir asses kicked outta da state a New Yawk. Ya ain't gotta worry 'bout seein' none a dem again, 'specially not da leader. We taught 'im quite a lesson." I attempted a smile, but it didn't really work. "We figured ya might as well stay in Brooklyn anuddah couple a days, till everything gets straightened out, jus' in case."  
  
"Jus' in case a *what*?" I asked, slightly nervous.  
  
"Nuttin'," Spot said, avoiding the subject. "You'se gonna be fine. Are ya hoit?" he asked.  
  
"Not really," I said, trying to move my shoulder. Pain. Lots of it. I could handle getting punched in the nose, but serious injuries were a totally different issue. "Ok, maybe a little." Jack walked over and looked at my shoulder (well, what he could see, considering my shirt was pretty much covering it). He touched it lightly and I winced.  
  
"It's pretty badly bruised, I dunno 'bout broken bones er nothin' though. We gots ta get youse to a doc foist thing in da mornin'. Can ya handle it 'til then?" He asked.  
  
I nodded. It wasn't like I was planning on sleeping much anyway.  
  
"Well, den, I gots ta get me boys back ta Manhattan. Dey stuck around ta make shoah youse was awlright, but ya ain't got enough beds heah ta keep awl a dem comfortable, and we'se still got to sell in the mornin'."  
  
"Are any of them hurt?" I asked, realizing for the first time the type of danger I had put them in. The fact that everything that had just transpired was a direct result of my stupidity came raining down on my head and I couldn't look Jack in the eye any more.  
  
"Not badly," Jack told me. "Some cuts, bruises, an' the like, but nothin' serious."  
  
I just nodded. Jack raised his eyebrows, noticing my expression. "Well then, I think I'm gonna start headin' back. She's awl yours, Spot," he said on his way out the door. "I'll be back foist thing in da mornin'," he said to me. "Don't worry, we'll take care a youse." With that, he walked out the door and down the stairs.  
  
I looked up at Spot, who for the most part had been uncharacteristically quiet. It was one of those awkward silences where you know exactly what's coming, but he's making you sit there, squirming with guilt, going over in your head exactly what's going to happen, before he gives it to you.  
  
I looked out the window and wondered how late it was. I looked back at Spot, who was still standing, arms crossed, trying to look tough. "What'samatta?" I asked, making light of it. "Tryin' to look imposing?" He just looked at me. "Ok, ok, I'm shutting up," I said, knowing exactly what he meant.  
  
"C'mon," he said, moving over to the window.  
  
"Where're we goin'?" I asked, starting to get up but not getting off the bed.  
  
"I know you, an' I know how you like ta shout. If dis turns inta dat, I don't need my boys overhearin', it's been a long enough day awlready. We'se goin' on da roof. So, move." As much as I hated following orders, I actually saw the logic of the statement. So, I got up and headed towards the window for what I knew would be a very long night after a very long day.  
  
A/N: Ok, kind of a weird spot to leave it, but it doesn't make much sense already and the chapter is long enough as it is. Please review! I don't know how much sense this chapter actually makes, so if it's confusing to the point that you don't know what the hell is going on, let me know and I'll fix it! Until then, go click that review button! 


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Alrighty folks, here's another chapter, enjoy! Please read and review! I'm definitely noticing a decrease in the amount of reviews, but please, let me know what you think, good, bad, or whatever! Enjoy!  
  
The pain was excruciating as I climbed up the ladder, being forced to put weight on my shoulder as I climbed upwards, but I was too concerned with what was about to take place to pay much attention. When we got up there, Spot nonchalantly took a seat on a random wooden box and lighted up.  
  
"Well?" I half said, half asked.  
  
"Well what?" He said, taunting me.  
  
"Did ya have somethin' in particular dat ya dragged me up heah for?" I asked him. He gave me a look that said precisely, "I'll tell you when I feel like telling you."  
  
I let out an exasperated sigh. "When the fuck are you going to stop treatin' me like a liddle goil who needs ta be looked after?"  
  
He jumped off the box and we stood face to face. "When ya stop actin' like one," he said, and walked right past me. There was only a little light from a streetlamp nearby, but I could tell from the look in his eyes as he walked by that every word he said that night was going to be controlled and calculated. It was a serious side of him that I had never seen before, and it only made me more ashamed of how I had acted.  
  
"Damn, goil," he said, taking another drag of his cigarette and looking at the landscape, while I stood a few steps away. "I thought you were smarter den dat." I didn't say anything, but let him continue. "I thought ya knew bettah den ta wander around Brooklyn alone in da daytime, let alone in the fuckin' middle of the night!" He turned around to face me.  
  
"Look, I'm sorry, ok?! I'm fuckin' sorry, what the hell else can I do about it?"  
  
"Nothin'," he said, surprisingly calmly. "There is absolutely nothing you can do about it, but thank each and every one of your lucky stars that none of mine or Jack's boys was seriously hoit taday because you are responsible for every fuckin' cut an' bruise dose boys got." He threw the words in my face.  
  
It was my turn to be calm and quiet. "You knew it woulda escalated ta dis eventually," I told him. "Dat's why I was heah in da foist place, cuz ya knew somethin' like dis would happen!" I said to him, trying to defend myself.  
  
"If it had, it shoulda been on our terms an' our turf an' you shoulda been well outta harm's way. An' dat's not even da fuckin' point!"  
  
"I know it ain't but I can't feel any more guilty den I do right now an' I'm sorry but I ain't gonna let you pound it into me anymore!"  
  
"God! Don't ya even realize dat dis is not about you?! I have a responsibility to dose boys! I'se dere leader an' dere's a reason for dat: so the shit dat happened today would be avoided. I failed dem cuz I didn't keep a closer eye on you."  
  
"What happened today was my fault. An' I do not need anyone keepin' an eye on me."  
  
"I t'ink ya proved taday dat you do," he said, looking right at me, and I knew he was reading me point-blank.  
  
"Are you EVAH gonna stop treatin' me like an inferior?" I screamed at him, sick of the looks and the guilt and the fear from earlier that hadn't worn off yet.  
  
He paused a minute before answering that question. Then he looked at me; for the first time really, truly looked at me, without looking down on me. "The situation that you were in, las' night an' taday," he began, slowly, contemplating. "Have ya evah been in dat type of a situation before? Evah?" I shook my head slowly. "You'se smart. You know dat well as I do. But you'se got a helluva lotta wisin' up ta do before ya can avoid dat type a situation. It's called common sense, goil. An' bein' aware of what's around you. Ya can't get outta a situation like dat on yer own, an' ya can't avoid it either. Until ya can, you'se need to be looked aftah. Most of us grew up knowin' dat we had ta take care of ourselves. Ya ain't inferior, jus' a bit behind when it comes ta streetsmarts," he told me, but his tone implied that he didn't fully believe what he was saying. I knew that, in his mind at least, I would never be his equal. And that was the only moment I truly wished to be back in 2003 instead of 1900.  
  
"Jack said he was comin' back foist t'ing in da mornin'. I'll be outta your hair an' you'll have da other half a your bed back for whatever random girl wanders inta it." I walked away from him as I said this, turning back only after I'd finished my sentence.  
  
"You're stayin' in Brooklyn fer da rest a da week, me an' Cowboy already planned it out." He said, going over towards the ladder, like he was about to go back inside.  
  
"What right do you have ta decide that?" I demanded.  
  
He walked back over to where I was standing. "An' if Red, stupidly enough, decides ta drag his ass back ovah heah an' take care of some unfinished business? What then?"  
  
I shut up. He walked back over to the ladder, bringing me with him. "C'mon," he said, without any malice this time. "It's late. And cold. I'se tired." I pulled away from him, breaking contact. "I'd actually like ta stay up heah for awhile," I said quietly, backing up a few steps.  
  
"Goil, you'se crazy. You'se had less sleep den me, an' I'se half dead. An' it's a lot warmer in dere den out heah." He moved to grab my arm again. I flinched, noticeably, and took another step back.  
  
"I'll be in in half an hour," I told him, not looking at him. "Ya can count da seconds if you'd like," I added dryly.  
  
"Whatevah," he conceded, shaking his head as he descended down the ladder.  
  
I leaned up against the wall. For a few minutes I was absolutely numb, not even noticing the tears that ran down my cheeks. Whether they were from aggravation, exhaustion, fear, or perhaps a combination of the three I didn't know. Eventually, I completely broke down, letting go of everything. I felt better afterwards, and descending the ladder down to Spot's room I was more aware of the cold and the pain in my shoulder than my emotions, which I was grateful for. Spot wasn't in the room and I was glad. I didn't care where he was; I didn't know if I could handle sharing a bed with someone else that night and the fact that he wasn't there just made it easier. I didn't bother to undress, just took off my shoes and collapsed on the bed, utterly exhausted. 


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Hey everybody, I know it's been quite awhile since I've updated, but this story is in a bit of a slump.I need to figure out exactly where I'm going, and once I do, the chapters will really start coming.until then, just bear with me, please. Read and enjoy, and please review!  
  
The next morning, it was not the shouts of the newsies getting up and out of the house that woke me up, but the combined efforts of Jack and Spot shaking, slapping, and eventually throwing water on me. "What the FUCK did you to that for?!" I shouted, sitting straight up.  
  
"Precisely da reason we did," Jack said, grinning. "You'se up."  
  
I groaned and rolled my eyes. "What time is it anyway?"  
  
"Late," Spot said. "C'mon, get up awlready, we'se got places to be." He was not the most patient of people.  
  
"What happened ta sellin'?" I asked as I got out of bed, realizing that I was fully clothed and therefore did not need to change. I was dirty but not yet awake enough to actually care. I pulled my shoes on and stumbled into the washroom to dry myself off a bit while Spot and Jack made their way downstairs.  
  
Slightly more conscious, I headed out of the LH with the two of them. Spot apparently knew a doctor somewhere where I could get my shoulder checked out. It had swelled up overnight, and the pain had definitely increased.  
  
By the time we got there, I was fully awake and sick of reliving the previous day and a half (neither Spot or Jack had managed to get all the details out of me before then, and both seemed to feel that it was a prime opportunity). We walked into a doctor's office in one of the more respectable parts of Brooklyn. Surprisingly, it was empty of people except for one woman who I took to be the receptionist.  
  
She seemed to recognize Spot, because it only took her a second before she left the room. In less than a minute, she was back with another person (I assumed he was the doctor). I raised an eyebrow and flashed Spot a questioning look. He just smirked.  
  
"Well, Spot, what can I do for you today?" the doctor asked, smiling. Spot stood up and shook his hand. "How ya doin', Doc? I'se got a friend heah wid' a bum shoulder," he said, jerking his head in the general direction of where Jack and I were seated. The older gentleman raised his eyebrows in that questioning way that only people of his age and stature can pull off. I stood up and walked over. Jack was right behind me.  
  
"Well, miss, let's have a look at that shoulder, shall we?" he said, prodding it lightly. I tried not to wince. He nodded his head. "It'll hurt, but I can fix it, not a problem," he said to me. He turned to Spot. "You know the price." Spot just nodded.  
  
"Excuse me," I said, sounding more irritated than polite, "but I don't."  
  
"Five dollars," the doctor said to me matter-of-factly. "Same as I always charge when Spot brings a friend of his in. It happens fairly often. You're the first girl I've ever seen, though," he commented. He wasn't polite or impolite. Just matter of fact.  
  
"Spot, can I talk to you for a second?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice from raising.  
  
"No," he said, nonchalantly.  
  
I looked at him, and pulled him a few steps away. "I don't have five dollars," I informed him, even though I knew he had known that before we walked in the door.  
  
"I know," he said, confirming my suspicions.  
  
"Fuck it," I said, quietly. "I'm not being any more beholden to you than I already am." I turned around and got two steps closer to the door before a hand clamped down on my shoulder- the injured one. Spot tightened his grip and used it to turn me around and march me back towards Jack and the doctor, who had been standing there watching the scenario. It took all I had not to scream in pain before he released my shoulder.  
  
"Deal wid it," he said in my ear, and I was too sick and tired of fighting with him to retort.  
  
The doctor merely raised his eyebrows at our scenario. "Let's go take a look at that shoulder, shall we?" he said, and led me through to an examining room. After a few minutes of poking and prodding it was discovered that I had no broken bones, just a badly twisted and slightly out of the socket shoulder. The doctor assured me that he could fix this. He also assured me that it would hurt like hell. Which it did. I bit down on my knuckle so hard to stop myself from being vocal that I actually tasted some blood. After getting a sling (to wear for a week) and the reassurance that the swelling would go down in a day or two, we were back outside.  
  
After assuring himself that I was alright, Jack left for Manhattan and Spot and I went back into Brooklyn, down by the docks. "Ya gonna be awlright?" he asked me.  
  
"I'm fine," I told him shortly, not exactly wanting to be on speaking terms with him. I knew I was acting childish but I didn't want to deal with him.  
  
"I'm gonna sell. Do ya wanna come or do ya jus' want me ta walk ya back to da Lodgin' House?" Spot asked me, no more pleased to be speaking to me than I was to be speaking to him, but he was handling it considerably more maturely than I was.  
  
"I'll sell," I said, and we went to the D.O. I got twice as many papers as I usually do, wanting to pay Spot back in as short an amount of time as possible. He gave me a questioning look and I just glared. I picked up the papers, carrying them under one arm, and set off, ignoring him. He was right behind me.  
  
"I woulda t'ought dat now, of awl times, ya would t'ink ta stick close," he said, dryly.  
  
I stopped and extended my arm. "Lead da way," I said sarcastically. He did. We sold in silence, speaking only to our customers. I stayed within his line of sight and he, in turn, was in mine. I ignored him as much as possible. I sighed, knowing that at some point I would have to stop acting like a child and talk to him about the previous night, but right then all I wanted to do was get my papers sold. I focused on that and only that, and maybe because of it I sold a lot quicker than I usually did, even with twice the amount.  
  
When we had finished, daylight was fading. We walked back towards the L.H. in silence. When we were still a few blocks away, I turned to him. "We need to talk." He stopped walking and pulled me off the street. We stood at the outskirts of an alleyway, it being the only convenient location for a semi-private conversation.  
  
"Look, about yesterday, and last night, and everything that happened- "  
  
"Treble," he said, cutting me off. I held up my hand.  
  
"No. Absolutely no interruptions until I'm finished. Cuz if you interrupt, I don't know if I can finish, alright?" I looked up and he nodded. It was the first time I'd made eye contact with him since I'd been back. I didn't look away, but kept talking. "I don't think I ever said thank you. So I'm saying it now. Thank you. And I'm really, truly sorry for all the trouble I caused." He started to say something. "I'm not finished yet. I told you no interruptions." He shut his mouth. "I know I'm acting like a child, and I'm sorry. But you were right. I'd never, ever been in that type of a situation before. I've never been scared like that before, and I'm still trying to deal with it. If he'd finished what he started-I don't know if I could've handled it. But he didn't, and I've got to get over it, and I'm working on it. So I'm sorry if I seem completely unappreciative of everything you've done for me, cuz I'm not, it's just-everything is different now. So I just hope you can understand that. So thank you, again. That's pretty much all I wanted to say," I finished up, and stopped, looking away.  
  
He didn't say anything for a second. "You'se a whole lot smarter den you seem sometimes," he finally said. I didn't know if that was a compliment or not.  
  
"Whatevah," I said, and we started walking again. He smirked and I rolled my eyes. At least some things were back to normal. 


End file.
